My suggestion was as welcome as a risotto of pig manure.
“Bertucci died of old age,” Long Beard muttered. “We agreed we had no reason to believe anything else.”
“Let him rest in peace,” Morosini agreed.
Contradicting the chiefs of the Ten requires extreme tact or total insanity, and better both. I bowed. “Without questioning Your Excellencies’ wisdom or knowledge in any way, my master humbly submits that he has additional evidence that he can bring to Your Excellencies’ attention, but it will require the demonstration I described.”
“He must tell us the name of the person he intends to accuse.”
“He insists he has reasons for his secrecy, which will become obvious at the time.”
I had reasons for the nest of eels squirming in my belly, and most of them were memories of that torture chamber.
These men might or might not know that the doge had gate-crashed the book viewing, but they must know that one of the men present that evening had been the new ambassador-designate to the Holy See. To have Giovanni Tirali mixed up in a murder case at this time would be as embarrassing as involving the doge himself. The chiefs wanted the file closed. They wanted to bury it in the bowels of the state archives. They did not want a celebrated sage throwing wild and embarrassing accusations around.
Morosini banged a fist on the table. “Nostradamus expects just us to attend his harlequinade or is he inviting the whole Council of Ten? How much will he charge for admission?”
“He hopes only that Your Excellencies will permit the demonstration and send some trusted observer.”
The three chiefs bent heads to confer. If their expressions were any guide, they were going to send Missier Grande to fetch the Maestro by fast boat and order me flogged for insolence to amuse them while they were waiting.
“The old charlatan is hinting that he doesn’t trust us!” muttered Portly.
Of course he was.
“I have never heard such audacity,” grumbled Long Beard.
Very softly, Raffaino Sciara cleared his throat.
Portly had the best hearing. “ Lustrissimo?”
“I believe there have been precedents, Your Excellencies. A similar case… Missier Grande, do you recall the details?”
Members of the Council of Ten are elected for one-year terms, although they become eligible for reelection after another year. Circospetto and Missier Grande know everything because they are appointed for life.
“Maestro Nostradamus has helped the Council on several occasions,” the police chief said. “I can recall a couple of times when he made dramatic demonstrations.”
Sciara nodded. “That case of the dead gondolier on the roof? Bizarre!”
“Incredible!”
The chiefs pursed lips angrily. Long Beard said, “What case of what dead gondolier on what roof?”
“The man had seemingly been beaten to death and his body left on a roof, which it was quite impossible for him to have reached without witchcraft.”
“And Nostradamus explained it?”
Sciara shrugged. “With a pendulum, Your Excellency-a long rope attached to the nearby bell tower. There had been a drunken bet. The sage has never been proved wrong yet, but of course the man is old.”
Morosini scowled. No one likes to hear hints that his doctor is senile. “If anyone did poison old Bertucci,” he conceded, “then he ought to wear the silken collar.”
The other two muttered agreement. I could see beads clicking on their mental abacuses-the Ten make their reports to the Grand Council, and a truly dramatic conviction would bring great credit to the current chiefs and boost their political prospects.
“You said there were other precedents, lustrissimo?”
Sciara smiled his death’s-head smile. “Nostradamus has made some startling demonstrations in the presence of state witnesses. I doubt if the learned doctor expects the entire Council of Ten to turn up.”
The chiefs exchanged glances and near-imperceptible nods.
“I see no reason,” Morosini proclaimed, “for us to forbid the sort of charade the Maestro is suggesting, as long as we make clear that it is a private function. How many people would have to be rounded up?” He directed his faded eyes and scarlet wattles at me.
“About a dozen, Your Excellency. Five or six houses would have to be notified. One man and a boatman could deliver the warrants in a couple of hours.”
“Why about a dozen?” asked Portly. “Can’t you count?”
I glanced at Circospetto. Sciara had a sudden need to scratch his right ear, which in turn required him to shake his head, ever so slightly. I took that to mean that I was not to invite the doge.
“My master would like to have the servant Pulaki Guarana attend the demonstration, and also a certain Domenico Chiari. We do not know their present whereabouts. Perhaps the Council does?”
The chairman said, “Even we can’t know everything, lad. You want warrants? I s’pose…Can we order the Imer man to allow this invasion of his home, Avogadoro?”
The prosecutor smiled thinly. “The learned attorney is certainly aware that it is every citizen’s duty to assist the Council of Ten in its inquiries. As long as compliance is voluntary, verbal invitations would be adequate.”
And non-compliance would be prima facie evidence of guilt of course. The chairman glanced at his companions and both nodded. Sciara took up his pen again.
“Let it be recorded,” Morosini declaimed, “that the chiefs raised no objection to the petitioner organizing a private party to reenact the events at the Imer residence…within the existing laws governing assemblies. The petitioner was so advised, and…”-more glances and nods-“…and Missier Grande was instructed to ensure that the proposed gathering be conducted in an orderly fashion.”
I bowed, backed away three steps, and bowed again.
Bruno bowed also. Missier Grande strode across to open the door and see us out to the anteroom. One of the fanti closed the door behind us.
“Find the vizio, ” Missier Grande told him. “Quickly. I’ll watch this door.” Both men vanished out the door to the staircase. He turned back to me with an eye colder than the peaks of the Dolomites. “That man you scared to death yesterday-we had been keeping him under observation for months. The Ten nearly skinned me, because of your meddling.”
For once I could think of nothing to say, so I said nothing.
“Does Attorney Imer know you want to stage a masque in his house?”
“Not yet, Missier. ”
“Do any of the ‘guests’ know?”
“Not yet, Missier. ”
He growled. “So now I’m going to have to send Vasco out with you again, wasting another day of his time as if he had nothing better to do? I warn you, Alfeo Devil-take-you Zeno, that when he came back with a corpse yesterday, the chiefs tore his balls off and made him eat them. The vizio likes you even less than I do. Now I will more or less be putting him under your orders, so I suggest very strongly that you do not say so! If you try to lord it over him, he may lose you in a canal somewhere, and if he does, I do not intend to lead the search party.”
What Filiberto Vasco had in mind for me was forty or fifty lashes, I recalled. Perhaps ten of those had been added by yesterday’s disaster; the rest had been building up over the years.
“The Maestro is very sure of himself,” I said quietly. “He is certain that Karagounis did not poison the procurator and that someone else did.”
Missier Grande grunted. “He had better be right. You are not to mention the chiefs, understand? You do not speak with their authority.”
“If I cannot say that the Council of Ten has given its permission, then no one is going to turn up.”
He growled again, longer. “Vasco’s presence will tell them that.”